


Cannonball

by Kanuvina



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff (if you squint), M/M, Profanity, Underage Drinking, Yuri is a brat, haha jk this is gay, just bros being pals, otabek is a bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9404714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanuvina/pseuds/Kanuvina
Summary: When he's at his lowest, Yuri only wants Otabek.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Just a note that I made a small error in saying this was Guang-Hong's senior debut... it is not. I took a little creative license here.

It was a triple salchow; Yuri should have been able to land it in his sleep. As a matter of fact, he had landed it flawlessly a thousand times in practice and at competitions.

But he didn’t land this one.

Yuri hit the ice hard, full body slamming down on the ice, before picking himself up and continuing his performance. The crowd, which had been cheering and oohing and ahhing up until that point, became utterly silent after a collective gasp. It happened at the beginning of his short program, too, and the fall set the pace for the rest of the program. He couldn’t shake the failure off. He limped, figuratively and literally, through the rest of his performance.

He did not even look at the scores as he sat forlornly at the kiss and cry, clutching a stuffed tiger limply in the crook of his arm. Yakov and Lilia flanked him, neither saying anything in that moment, but Lilia’s hand rested reassuringly on his shoulder, but Yuri felt anything but reassured. He vaguely heard the scores – far lower than Katsuki and Victor. Christophe would be coming up next, then Guang-Hong and Otabek. Yuri had seen them all at practice, and figured he may still eke by past Christophe, who would be retiring after this season, and Guang-Hong, who performed very well for his senior debut, but still lacked experience.

Otabek, on the other hand? Yuri wasn’t so sure he would be able to surpass his friend to place on the podium. Otabek had made some improvements since last year to both his short program and free skate, and he was determined to place. Yuri had been impressed with what he’d seen in practice, even giving Otabek pointers on where to improve. If Otabek performed flawlessly, he would most certainly take home bronze for Kazakhstan.

Yuri didn’t wait around to watch the other performances, and he avoided the other skaters as he walked out of the arena and into the corridor to catch his breath and try to collect himself before his free skate.

\--

Yuri didn’t place. He didn’t expect to, but it still left an ache in his chest and his teeth on edge to know that he wasn’t standing on that podium because his body had betrayed him. He didn’t even stick around to see Katsuki win his first gold with Victor standing beside him with the silver around his neck. He was happy for Otabek, who did come away with bronze, but that made the hurt of not being up there with his best friend even worse.

Without a word to his coaches, Yuri took a cab back to his hotel and retreated to his room.

Yuri didn’t need to attend the banquet to get drunk. He could do that all by himself. It was better that way, in fact; he didn’t want to be consoled or given some annoying pep talk by Victor and Katsuki. Rifling through the minibar in his hotel room, Yuri snatched up several miniature bottles of alcohol. There were all kinds – he wasn’t picky, he just wanted to get hammered.

Four bottles in and Yuri was not feeling any less sorry for himself. All he felt was anger at his failure and resentment at the growth spurt he had known was coming, tried to work past, and ultimately didn’t.  Who would think growing a few more centimeters and gaining a few extra pounds would throw him off so badly. Yuri thought he had trained rigorously enough to avoid this stumbling block, but apparently he had not.

Yuri glanced at his phone, which was haphazardly tossed onto the hotel bed when he entered the room. Yuri blinked at his screen several times in a vain attempt to see through his drunken haze. He grimaced – 13 missed calls, 10 text messages. He unlocked the screen, which was a selfie he and Otabek took earlier that year during an international tour with the other Grand Prix finalists. That was a much happier time – the gold medal around Yuri’s neck probably had a lot to do with that – but also it was the beginning of his friendship with Otabek. Getting to spend time with his only real friend had been a treat. Even after the tour and up until this year’s GPF, Yuri and Otabek kept in touch a lot. They skyped and texted on a near-daily basis before, during, and after training and competition.

All the phone calls were from Yakov and Victor. He had no desire to talk to either of them tonight. Yuri skimmed his text messages. Most were from his fellow Russian skaters with the expected words of encouragement and consolations. “You’ll place next year,” Georgi had sent. Mila, always so eloquent, sent him a teary-eyed cat emoji and the words, “Shit happens. Kick ass next year.”

Finally, Yuri got to the texts that mattered: Otabek’s. He had sent the last one an hour ago, looking at the timestamps.

Otabek [20:03]: Hey, are you here?

Otabek [20:27]: Are you coming down?

Otabek was referring to the banquet, of course. Neither of them liked parties much – all the noise and other people. They had made a routine of attending those functions together, picking a wall or a corner to hang back in and just keep each other company. Yuri felt a twinge of guilt as he stared at the texts – he had left Otabek high and dry, and on a day he had won a medal, no less.

He immediately hit the reply button, began typing a message telling Otabek to come up to his room, but Yuri stopped. Did he really want Otabek to see him in this state, drunk and wallowing? Erasing the message, Yuri wrote instead,

Yuri [21:45]: Just not feeling up to it. Congrats btw.

Yuri hit send and flung his phone back down on the bed along with himself. He pushed his face into the pillow and let out a muffled scream, thinking it would help. It didn’t. He heard his phone ping and immediately snatched it up – it had to be Otabek replying. Only Otabek replied that quickly to messages, Yuri mused.

Otabek [21:46]: I’m coming up.

Yuri frowned. It wasn’t a question or a request. He could picture Otabek actually saying those words, in his casual baritone, matter-of-fact and utterly blasé. Yuri felt a sudden rush at the thought of Otabek leaving the banquet early, leaving just to come see him. It was so genuinely _Otabek_. Yuri gnawed on his bottom lip as he waited.

After a few minutes, a soft knock came at the door. Yuri scrambled off his bed quickly and ran for it, but paused before opening the door. He schooled his features into his typical scowl, not wanting to seem so eager to see Otabek, especially now. He took a deep breath and opened the door only a few inches. He peered out and saw Otabek standing there, face expressionless.

“Hey,” Otabek said.

“What do you want,” Yuri replied sourly.

This didn’t faze Otabek, of course. Yuri didn’t expect it would, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Thought you might want some company, since you weren’t at the banquet.”

Yuri glared at Otabek, but opened the door wider nonetheless. “Yea, sure.” He left the door open and walked into the room. He heard Otabek close it behind them.

Yuri turned to face Otabek and crossed his arms. He was glad Otabek wasn’t wearing his medal. Not that he would – he wasn’t that arrogant.

Neither spoke for an awkwardly long time, just stood there in the middle of Yuri’s room. Each second that passed that neither spoke, Yuri’s irritation rose like a pot of boiling water threatening to overflow.

“Everyone was asking for you,” Otabek said, finally breaking the silence.

Yuri sneered. “Why? Not like I won anything.” He sounded pathetic in his self-pity, he knew, but Yuri didn’t care. Otabek had seen plenty of his tantrums in the past, so what was another one?

“It’s fine. You’ll place next year.” Otabek’s tone was bland, like he wasn’t talking about Yuri’s entire life.

Yuri fumed. He lunged forward, snarling right in Otabek’s face. The other man didn’t back away, didn’t flinch. “Yea? It’s that easy, right? What the _fuck_ , Beka – did you see me out there? I fucking choked… that’s never happened before!”

The only visible change on Otabek’s features was a slight raise of his dark eyebrows. “It happens to everyone, and it happened to you. Don’t beat yourself up about it. You’re the best skater I know, Yura… you will place next year.”

Yuri’s face pinched up and he wanted to cry, but he swallowed it back. He hated how resolute Otabek was, how he just _said_ things like he knew they just _were_. Yuri never had that kind of cool confidence – his arrogance was all a façade, all bravado. Yuri pushed at Otabek with both hands, not very hard, just an impotent gesture of his frustration. Otabek didn’t move – he was solid as a rock under Yuri’s palms. Yuri fisted his hands into Otabek’s black sweatshirt and made a frustrated noise through his clenched teeth.

“I hate you,” Yuri whispered brokenly.

“Do you?” Otabek asked softly, bringing his hands up and clasping them around Yuri’s wrists.

Yuri relaxed his grip and leaned in, pressing his forehead to Otabek’s chest and shook his head. He was warm and smelled so good, like soap and aftershave. He felt his irritation and anger slip away, leaving him with only a feeling of sad despair.

“It’s all I have, Beka. If I’m not good at skating, then…” Yuri let his voice fade, not wanting to reveal all of his dread.

“It’s not all you have,” Otabek said, squeezing Yuri’s slender wrists for emphasis.

Yuri looked up slowly and caught the faintest smile on Otabek’s lips. It made Yuri’s stomach twist up in knots. That was a smile just for him - for Yuri and nobody else. Yuri could feel the heat on his cheeks, embarrassed at how sincerely Otabek looked at him.

“You’re so fucking corny,” Yuri said with a smirk of his own. He pulled his hands away reluctantly, Otabek’s fingers trailing along his skin before dropping his arms to his side. The sensation sent shivers down Yuri’s spine and he rubbed his arms stubbornly to erase the tingles.

Otabek was still smirking. “Am I?”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “Yea, Beka. How can you just say shit like that to people?”

Otabek looked down and scratched the back of his head. “I don’t say things like that to anyone else, Yura.”

Maybe it was the alcohol still swimming through his veins, or the way Otabek looked uncharacteristically vulnerable, but before Yuri knew it he slammed his eyes shut, leaned forward, and pressed his lips against his friend’s. It was chaste, closed-mouth and over before a blink of an eye, but Yuri felt like a lightning bolt had struck him. Yuri opened his eyes wide and let out a quiet gasp, surprised at what he’d done. Otabek’s only reaction was to widen his own eyes just slightly.

Yuri waited for Otabek to freak out – maybe even run out of the room – but he just stood there.

“Are you just going to fucking stare at me?” Yuri barked, his defenses rapidly rising from his embarrassment.

Otabek grabbed Yuri by the shoulders and pulled him in for a deeper kiss. Yuri stiffened at first, then relaxed as he felt Otabek’s tongue press against his lips. He closed his eyes and parted his mouth, letting Otabek in. He tasted good, like champagne. Yuri wrapped his arms around Otabek’s neck, forcing them flush against each other. He scratched his fingers up over Otabek’s undercut and carded them through his silky black hair. Otabek’s hands slide down to rest on his hips, kneading there absently as their tongues lapped against each other. Yuri grasped a handful of Otabek’s hair and tugged, eliciting a throaty groan from him that made Yuri dizzier than any amount of booze ever could.

Yuri knew, deep down, that he’d wanted this for a while, but he never had the courage to go for it. As they continued to lick and bite and kiss each other’s lips, Yuri pulled Otabek towards the bed until the mattress hit the back of his knees and he sat with a bounce. It broke their kiss, Otabek only leaning forward a bit over him. Yuri ran his hands over Otabek’s chest, down to the hem of his sweater, and tugged at it. Otabek put a staying hand on his.

“No,” Otabek said.

He looked a mess, with his hair tousled, pupils blown wide, and his lips swollen from kissing. Yuri wanted him badly.

“If it’s because I’m 17-” Yuri began to argue, but Otabek cut him off.

“That’s a part of it, maybe, but you’re also drunk, so no,” Otabek said as he straightened and smoothed his hair back.

Yuri knew arguing with him was pointless, and he didn’t want to seem that desperate anyway. “So you’re just going to go back to your room now, and what, jerk off?”

Otabek rolled his eyes at the comment. “I’ll stay over if you want me to, but we’re not doing anything.”

Yuri grinned devilishly and lifted his hand to Otabek’s cheek, caressing his sharp jawline with his thumb. “Okay, but… what about more kissing?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are much appreciated!  
> The title is based on "Cannonball," by Damien Rice.


End file.
